


A Light in the World of Ruin

by moroder



Category: Killing Floor (Video Games)
Genre: Family Reunions, Gen, London, Post-Apocalypse, Survival, they sure have a lot to talk about don't they
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2019-10-11 10:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17445470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moroder/pseuds/moroder
Summary: It's been three weeks since the Outbreak started. The culprit of the disaster fled to Paris to spread the nightmare onwards, leaving everything behind in London. By everything we also mean the only family member left alive, Dr Rachel Clamely. As she proceeds to fight for her life in search for help, she finds unexpected help in the face of a "failed experiment". Maybe this helps her find a way out. Maybe not.





	1. Bit Scathed, Bit Lost

**Author's Note:**

> The titles of this fic and its first chapter are from the song Wolfpack by Angels & Airwaves.

Who could have thought London to fall in nearly overnight?

It was hard to even imagine the scale of destruction. Seemed like no single piece of the enormous city was left alone and no neighborhood survived. Cars broken in traffic accidents, burning buildings, rags fluttering in place of shattered windows…

Isn’t this the definition of apocalypse?

Those who were unlucky to be in the middle of terror did not have much time to think everything out. Defenseless ones were crushed in a moment; those with guns had saved themselves some precious spare minutes. Not everyone used its potential; not everyone had reached the rescue vehicles. Some lucky beggars there were anyway, the ones with an ace up their sleeve. Departing from the burning remains of London, they had some time to speculate about why everything had happened so fast and who was the one responsible for it.

* * *

 

Several days after the last armored cars had left the city, a living soul crawled out from under the ruins of long gone Butcher Street station. The path of this human being was hard to envy or anything, but she didn’t lose her heart and tore her way out to the surface with her own bare hands.

She also had some things to think over in the empty London. Being a daughter of the ringleader responsible for tragic events, it was hard to keep her thoughts away from surroundings.

Loosening her grip on the fire axe, Rachel made some unsteady steps and looked around. The fires have subsided at most, at least around her; a bloody glow flooded the skies at the horizon, probably marking some unfortunate suburban train station. The buildings intimidated a passer-by with their silence. When Rachel had only just arrived to London and hurried for the underground to meet her father, the streets looked way more lively. A regular London square. Little shops, cafes, a police station nearby… The catastrophe must have made its way here at the last stage.

Silent grunts and sound of falling stones caught the girl’s attention, and she turned around. Back where the station entrance used to be a while ago, now replaced with a pile of concrete broken down by the underground explosion, something alive appeared. An unlucky clot must have followed Rachel up to the surface and was now stuck under a piece of wall; the creature wiggled, making piteous and at the same time eerie sounds of fight.

The girl sighed and glanced at the axe in her hands. It was already greased with blood of unfortunate ones who caught up with her on the way up. Killing living creatures, all looking the same, was not new for her. She came closer, and the clot tried to dash and grab her leg. It did not work: she stood too far for that but close enough for her intent.

“Sorry, buddy,” she said, “can’t leave you hanging here forever.”

Getting a better grip on the axe, Rachel swung it and took down the stuck clone’s head in one hit. Once decapitated, the creature did not die at once, just like all others before it – squirming and trying to set itself free for a couple of seconds before finally going limp and silent.

The girl decided not to stay near the hapless station any longer. If underground enemies started to catch up on her already, what was waiting for her on the surface?

She fixed the bag on her shoulder and straightened her jacket. Back there, after the lab exploded, the first thing she did was to get rid of the labcoat and put on something proper. This way, it was harder for enemies to spot her in the middle of city that went coal black from all the fires and destruction. Though Rachel was still unsure about how the clones found their victims and what senses they used the most. She decided not to test fate from the very beginning.

The doorway of the local police station looked like the doors were literally smashed through; the door itself could be found far into the building, and it did not look promising. All rooms and corridors were filled with bodies – some disfigured, some clearly killed by humans. Local people were likely more ready for the incursion, although it did not save them.

Carefully stepping over the bodies and their parts, walking through pools of blood, Rachel paced around the rooms in search of a transmitter. If there was at least one working radio station remaining, she could try to contact the stations outside of London and request help… if anyone would volunteer to take the daughter of the tragedy culprit from here. She could conceal some info for the time being.

Fortunately, there was absolutely no living soul inside the building. Nothing threated the girl’s life right now; the only things surrounding her were flickering fluorescent lights and a suffocating smell of decaying flesh. Hell, how many corpses and clones were required to create all this?

A faint sizzling sound caught Rachel’s attention; it sounded almost like static noise. Despite being head over heels with happiness, she did not rush there, instead observing the corresponding rooms for any threat and walked carefully towards the room with statics. Only here she fell down to her knees and grabbed the radio receiver. She had a vague idea about the working principles of this thing, and the device even somewhat behaved in her hands. For a couple of seconds, the static noise died.

“Someone? It’s London, Butcher Street! I’m all alone here trying to survive, over!”

Rachel kept repeating the same words like a spell, hoping that some still listened to this frequency and could answer. The hope was paper-thin but still had a chance to live…

A noise in the corridor, just a few meters away, made her drop the receiver, grab her axe and tuck herself behind the door, in the only place not observed well from the doorway. The transmitter fell into statics again, but she could not reach out to turn it off, she could not, she did not dare to. She could not even move her arm to take a better grip on the axe: the fear was overwhelming.

Steady heavyweight steps right behind her back sent shivers down her spine. It suddenly became very cold around her. Knuckles on her hands went white from how tight Rachel’s grip on her only weapon was.

 _“It’s the Patriarch, isn’t it,”_  a very familiar voice in her head said in a regular observer tone, as if watching over an experiment. Her scientific director would likely not survive in an experiment like this, but it did not matter now.

The steps closed in. Now Rachel was a little surer that clones found their victims by smell, because there was no other way to find her around the building aside from voice. Her hideaway was flawless. Could a simple dumb clone figure out that right here, in this police station, there was a transmitter and a living person talking over it?

On the other hand, she never reflected on the clones’ intellect. If all others were just a product of biology, her father’s clones were supposed to keep an image of his mind and other functions. Then the intellect of a Patriarch clone would be way too enough to find her.

Loud breathing near the doors knocked Rachel off this particular thought and brought her other gloomy ones. Her position gave her a good view on the transmitter and an ominous shadow across it. Often the shadow is way larger and scarier than the source of it, but it was totally wrong when talking about the Patriarch. The shadow was much more harmless and depicting his true size. The clone waited a bit and made two steps towards the device.

There was something off about him. Rachel did not notice it at first, scared to death, but then it hit her.

The clone was unarmed. All Patriarch clones were supplied with a tremendous minigun stapled to one of their hands and a backpack to which the minigun was connected. This particular clone had none of these, although he looked frightening even without mechanic weapon. The rest of features were in place, as far as the girl could judge from her position. At the end, the Patriarch is still the Patriarch. His armory was not limited to firearms and rockets. Rachel saw it very well during the squad’s fight with his two clones down at the labs.

The figure looked around slowly. The girl prayed to herself that he would not notice her, but the Patriarch held his gaze in her direction for the longest time, as if suspecting something. Then he turned his whole body towards her and shut the doors behind which she sat, hidden.

Despite having no gun, the clone was, indeed, identical to those Rachel saw at the laboratory. And also those she saw on the news, the Internet and her e-mail. She tried to avert her gaze from his face, knowing way too well what she was going to meet.

“I won’t give up,” she wheezed, gripping the axe and wincing from pain in her fists.

The clone moved forward, and the girl shut her eyes. She knew there was nowhere to run, that she was going to meet her death in this corner despite her loud words. She only just hoped for fate to make her death short and least painful.

But seconds passed, and the end did not come.

Rachel slowly opened her eyes. The figure towering above decreased to half its size, standing on its knees. The creature examined her as if trying to utter something, but it was far from easy. The girl knew that clones could speak, so the fact itself did not surprise her.

_“Ra… chel?”_

The voice was so distorted that the original tone could barely be heard but was still recognizable. The girl heard it back there, at the station, as she had met the disaster her father has turned into. She would give so much to prevent this change…

“Please… don’t be afraid.”

However, unlike other clones, this one spoke in quite a tranquil and even… worried manner. Rachel lacked the experience to think about whether clones could overpower enemies with any sort of tricks. But right here, in a dead end, these words had a magical effect.

“I won’t harm you. Do you remember me, Rachel?”

Her hands unclenched, feeble, and the fire axe came down on the floor with a 'thud!' between the girl and the nine-foot tall clone. Rachel pulled her legs closer, cuddling her knees and moving away, though there was no place left to move.

_What do you feel when you hurry to meet the only loved one after twenty years of separation, but the only thing you get is a shell that only slightly resembles them but is completely empty?_

As Rachel ran from her father and locked herself in that control room back at the lab, she sat motionless for many hours. She just could not make herself stand up and at least look around. She felt so bitter, so hurt that after all these years Kevin Clamely came to the state of using his own daughter as a cover to escape… Could he care less about her?

Something large and sharp like a knife touched her palm. The girl twitched, losing trail of her mirthless thoughts, and looked up at the clone who still sat on his knees in front of her; now he reached out for her and touched her with his long bloody fingers that resembled claws.

“Please tell me that you remember. I’m your father.”

No matter how hard Rachel tried to keep her gaze away from the Partiarch’s face, she failed and stared right into it. Some details were still recognizable… but the main one Rachel remembered was irretrievably lost.

“What’s happened to your eyes…” she said in slurring speech. “They had such a beautiful color…”

The clone opened his mouth to answer, but his words blended in Rachel’s head; swaying to the side, she slowly slid down on the floor, passing out. All previous stress, her long way up from under the station and unhappy memories buried her under like an avalanche.

* * *

 

When the girl opened her eyes again, the most noticeable change was her surroundings. It was no longer an enclosed space of the transmitter room; she was in a completely different room, lying on a couch, carefully covered by her own jacket. Her bag and fire axe were at her arm’s length. Looking around a bit, Rachel deduced that it was a reception room of some first floor bank.

From the outside, barely audible, grunts and squealing could be heard; the girl sat up, and the jacket slid down from her shoulders. She saw some blurry silhouettes passing by, and she froze with realization that among them was at least one Scrake. By some bare fortune, they did not pay attention to Rachel being so helpless and minded their own business. Although… was that really fortune?

Slouching his shoulders, a familiar man entered the room. He came closer and sat down at a chair nearby; it creaked under the weight.

“Do you feel better? Are you not ill?”

“I… I feel okay, I’m perfect,” the girl started but quickly understood it to be useless. A parent would never believe their child to be all right in such condition. Therefore, she decided to switch to a different topic while she still could. “There are… clones. A frightening lot of them.”

“I know.”

“Why’d they pass me by? They always find themselves a victim, don’t they?”

“I sent them away. They don’t need to know about you.”

“What do you mean… sent them away?”

“I sent them away because I can. Do you doubt my abilities, Rachel?”

She sighed wearily and picked her jacket up from the couch.

“I don’t, I just… Imagine yourself in my shoes. I meet my father after twenty years of absence, and he’s turned into _a monster!_ Then I get through blockage and clones, trying to find other survivors, and instead I meet one of my father’s clones that are usually not very friendly towards humans. What am I supposed to think and do?”

“You’ve met the original?” This info must have surprised the Patriarch. Rachel shrugged.

“Happened to. Why are you so surprised? And where’s your giant gun?”

The clone fell silent for a while. The girl thought that he seemed to share her unhappy thoughts about meeting the real Kevin Clamely.

“Initially, he’s made some sort of back-up at the moment when he lacked a weapon. Must’ve wanted to see what happens to either version of clones.”

“But you’re the first one I’ve seen without a weapon,” Rachel sighed. “He must’ve liked the armed one more.”

“Probably.”

Silence again. This _‘previous version’_ of the Patriarch was seemingly reluctant to discuss his creator and the whole situation. But the girl had to break it.

“And _sending the clones away?_ Why do you protect me if you have to fight me like all others?”

The creature sighed very deeply and looked at her as tired as possible.

“Because I’ve been away for a pretty big chunk of your life. Now, as it’s in danger, I may at least somehow play my role as a father by protecting you as best as I can.”

“R… really?”

“There’s no point in lying now.”

Rachel looked back at him in response, squinting. What a peciluar situation: your real father turned into a beast and cares little to nothing about you, and a clone of this beast became his complete opposite and has a lot more conscience than the original.

“Oh well. Let’s… let’s imagine you really being my father.”

“Technically, if we run a DNA analysis, I’d _really_ be-“

“Okay, okay, _fine!_ I know that, Kevin. I didn’t become a doctor for nothing, you know.”

She stood up from the couch and threw the jacket on her shoulders, not zipping it up. As she put on the bag, the Patriarch’s voice startled her.

“But you can call me _‘dad’_. Not by name.”

Rachel sighed. It was hard to consider a father the thing he turned into… but one doesn’t choose their parents, right?

“For all the years you were away, everyone called you by your name. It’s hard to get used to dropping it.” She picked the axe up from the floor hear the couch. “But I’ll try. Okay?”

She tried to smile as sincerely as she could. Kevin Clamely’s copy sighed in response, but lacking the grief and sadness of before.

“Okay.”


	2. Butcher Street

“Goddamn it, why isn’t it working? It was perfectly alright…”

Despite all of Rachel’s attempts to restore the power, the device was continuously against it. They were at the transmitter room again; the room where they have met each other, but now no one was hiding. The girl sat on her knees in front of the transmitter, and the clone stood behind her in the doorway, crossing his hands although it did not feel really comfortable.

At the end, the girl threw the radio receiver to the side and lowered her head in defeat.

“This sucks,” she muttered.

“Still not working?” the Patriarch asked sympathetically.

“It’s supposed to work but… uh, I don’t understand anything, why didn’t I take radionics instead of biology…”

_“Rachel…”_

“Okay, come on, I’m joking.” She stood up and turned to the tall figure behind her. “We’ll have to find some other evac point.”

“And as you find one… what shall you do?”

“Call for help, of course. Why else would I need to contact the outer world?”

* * *

 

Once lively and filled with cars and people, the streets now resembled the towns that fell victim to the nuclear accidents. Just like these towns, still having a couple of living souls inside, here different clones have passed by Rachel and her bodyguard. The girl had seen them all at the lab, but seeing them face to face was not so appealing. Watching over surveillance was a lot safer.

Like in the previous situation, no one harmed her. Some clones glanced at her but looked away quite soon. From time to time, Rachel looked up at her silent companion who towered from his height and monitored the surroundings with a threatening gaze. The clones did not look very intelligent – the Clots at most, - but as they passed by the Patriarch, Rachel could literally feel them admiring him. For them, he was a creator, at the end, although he himself was a clone as well.

“What do you think about dressing up a little?”

The question was unexpected, and Rachel’s companion even stopped upon hearing it.

“What?”

“We’re at some shopping street right now. Don’t you want to find yourself something more suitable?” She nodded at his torn trousers, but it didn’t help Kevin’s confusion.

“But why? I’m not startled by my appearance anyhow.”

“Well, think about it. If we meet a group of survivors, the first thing they’d want to do would be killing you because you look exactly like these things,” she waved a hand towards some Gorefasts dragging their enormous knifes along. “And if you’ll be dressed a bit more like a human being, you’ll be a little more trustworthy in the people’s eyes.”

“I doubt that I’ll ever be trustworthy in anyone’s eyes,” the clone shrugged.

“Won’t try, won’t see.” Rachel approached her father and touched his arm. “We’ll just see if they have your size. It won’t take long.”

* * *

 

 _She lied._ Any sort of shopping lasts forever for the passive one who is used as a mannequin for dressing up. Nevertheless, one must pay tribute to Rachel’s female talent of looking for matching clothes – she did it at the fastest possible speed.

Of course, there was no matching size. Nine-foot people are not a common thing in human society, so the largest sizes lacked at least thirty centimeters in length, be that arms or legs.

“Well,” Rachel concluded, looking at the Patriarch wearing a huge shirt that looked like a nightgown on the body but barely covered his elbows, “at least you haven’t gained any extra _pounds_ this year!”

The trousers were a little easier to deal with: one just needed knee-high boots that would cover as much as they could and then tuck the remaining trousers into them. To update this part of his wardrobe, Kevin had to get rid of his old torn pants, and as he tried to find peace with what his daughter brought him, she sat waiting and examining the thigh belt he also took off; or, better said, the syringes it contained. She remembered the clones use it in a matter of emergency, most likely for self-healing. If the syringes were an absolute disaster in case of hostile clones, in her case they could be a very important aid… perhaps not only for their owner.

“Kevin… I mean, _dad_ , what’s inside these syringes?” she exclaimed. From behind the dressing room curtain, an eye peeked out, followed by its source head, and Rachel quietly chucked despite the grotesque situation.

“A hellish mixture of ibuprofen and adrenalin. Why do you ask?”

“I’m just interested if they could be used on anyone but you,” the girl shrugged, not paying attention to the way the syringes' owner frowned upon his property being impinged.

“Not really,” he muttered, getting out from behind the curtain, almost tearing it apart. “Give it back until you do things you shouldn’t.”

She laughed and outstretched her hand with the syringe belt; its owner, still a bit upset, fixed it on the thigh above a new untorn pair of trousers. As he did the grooming, Rachel watched him and couldn’t help but notice how much the Patriarch resembled her father many years ago as there were only two of them against the whole world: little Rachel Clamely and her ingenious researcher father at the very beginning of his career. Of course, he wasn’t utilizing a height of almost three meters back then, and both of his eyes were in their respective orbits; and the world around them wasn’t on fire.

Perhaps they still had a chance to fix everything. There were still only two of them against the whole world: Dr Rachel Clamely and her ingenious monster father’s clone. What a duo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually do have an illustration of the "extra pounds" scene haha: goo.gl/aXp8kP  
> tho Patriarch looks a bit different and it's a little spoiler I guess


	3. Intermission

For the first several hours, Rachel was living on a hope for the best. That she will be able to contact the safer places and will later find herself a comfortable bathtub to bask in; then compose a report about her experience for the scientific society… if it was still operating in terms of present.

However, miracles did not stop by in her case. They were finding transmitters at not only police stations but also practically anywhere: at ambulance stations, in abandoned armored cars, in empty yellow tents, awash in blood or guts… None of them was working, though. Moreover, they were not operating at all, unlike the first one Rachel used at the beginning of her journey.

They went deeper into the tumbledown city, away from the easternmost Butcher Street subway station. The further they paced, the more red they saw at the streets, be that people splayed out on the pavement or clones run over with burning trucks. The girl literally felt the Patriarch wince over the sight of such savagery over his clones and mutter something likely cursing under his breath.

Her opinion on this aspect was ambiguous. On one hand, it hurts to see someone destroying your creations in such a barbarian way, and not just your creation – if she’s heard the other Patriarch clones correctly, - but your _family_. On the other hand, these creations mostly killed off innocent people. No matter young or old. Why not teach them some good manners? Rachel wanted to ask her father about this but reckoned that currently the answer would not contribute anything good to their relationship. The Patriarch’s clone was protecting her from unwanted followers, and she still needed to find out a way to rescue herself…

But when she does, what happens to her companion?

Rachel could not answer this question even to herself. The further they went into London, the less hope she retained.

* * *

 

As the autumn sun painted the sky red just enough to blend with the surroundings, the girl became so tired that she could barely walk. She would probably exchange possible escape for a comfortable bed and a piece of something edible. At least a chocolate bar. From time to time, she threw envious glances at Kevin who was walking by her side almost non-stop but showed no signs of exhaustion.

“The sun is setting,” the clone said without enthusiasm, looking over at the horizon. “It’s getting dangerous outside.”

Walking on her last legs before that, Rachel stopped by his side and leaned onto his hand, trying to stay on her feet.

“What’s your offer?” she asked wearily. “Breaking into someone’s flat and waiting overnight, at best.”

“Why someone’s flat. Considering our current position… we’re not far from my corporate apartments.”

“Corporate apartments?” Rachel squinted. “What’s this?”

“You can take a look yourself. That’s my suggestion. Any others?”

Sure thing, she would accept any option where she would not stay out on the cold streets among dead and not so dead clones.

“Though you’re gonna have to carry me there.” She smiled wearily, and as Kevin moved his arm slightly, she almost keeled over. “Years in the university didn’t have me prepared for all this.”

“I understand. Same thing.”

* * *

 

By a pure miracle, the house that looked more like a concrete anthill still had electricity and waterworks running, so Rachel could use the bathroom and washer. Quite cool for the eye of disaster! Some evacuation centers would not have this luxury.

The flat owner waited patiently for her in the main room. He found something for himself on the book table; it was not flooded with books but some stuff like “Achievements of Functional Analysis Year 2001” could arouse some interest in concerned people. He was reading this very booklet, sitting in a chair, when Rachel finally entered the room. He looked up at her and froze: she was only wearing her lingerie. Seeing her father’s face falling, she complained:

“What? I can’t dress up until I have my wounds treated. Do I embarrass you?”

“N… no, not at all.” Kevin fixed his eyes back on the thin book and muttered something else. Seriously, when was the last time he saw his daughter, at her age of six or seven? Physical development does not stand still after so many years…

Rachel was satisfied with this answer and switched straight to the planned business. The scratches she got back in the subway and bandaged atop of jeans were bothering her for a while already, then a couple of hits here and there… Overall, she spent a fair amount of time before she could finally put on at least a shirt. From time to time, she asked her father where she could find something in the flat, and he mumbled in response, tucked into his book. At the end he probably learned the comprehensive proof of all three theorems described in the booklet, as he had read it forward and backward for at least twenty times just to keep himself occupied.

“Hey, I just thought… Do you even see anything in your glasses?”

The question caught the Patriarch off guard, and he had to set the book aside. By that moment, Rachel was already wearing a shirt, so he did not have to be all too embarrassed.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, look at them.” She took the glasses off him and looked through them. “This one is all shattered, and the right one…” She wanted to touch the lens, but her finger went through the hole, “…missing. Not that you really need the right one, but still… Wait a second.”

She put this pair of glasses on the table, took off hers and put them carefully on Kevin’s face. Any person who has ever had glasses put on them by a stranger could understand his emotions about this.

“…why.”

“To see anything at all! Our acuity is almost the same. Maybe yours is a bit worse than mine… but that’s at least something.”

“What about you?” The Patriarch squinted, looking at his daughter from behind non-shattered glasses. “Do you see anything without them?”

“Of course I do. It’s not a big problem,” the girl waved her hand. “You need them more than me now.”

She returned to the bathroom for the rest of her clothes, and the clone fixed the glasses sitting uncomfortably on his nose. He actually needed no optical devices to improve vision, as target location in his case worked the same as for all other clones who did not rely on vision for that. But the feeling of your daughter taking care of you, even for such a small thing… it felt better than dry truth.

“Oh, one more thing,” he heard Rachel calling out, “I’m on my way.”

She came back with a pack of bandages and a very serious face.

“This is about your vision as well. Or I’d rather say, your eyes,” she glanced uncomfortably at his right eye sticking out of the eye socket and rocking slowly on the retinal artery. “This looks very unnerving.”

“You dressed me to make me look less horrible, turns out it’s for yourself,” the clone laughed. “What do you suggest?”

“A common way of hiding something terrible. Bandage.”

“Do you think that’s reasonable?”

“I’ll try. If you’ll feel uncomfortable, just say so.”

* * *

 

After a comparably short fight between the freedom-loving eye and the bandages (and the victory of latest), Rachel began looking for any food supplies in the flat. Her success was relatively remarkable; she even made the Patriarch eat an energy bar, although he kept saying how he was ideal in means of wasting energy and did not need anything like this. At the end, after a small unhealthy dinner, Clamely family was sitting in the same room; Rachel occupied the only bed and was almost falling asleep, but her interest kept her awake. Therefore, she decided to bring up a talk.

“What’s this corporate flat of yours? Did you live here some time ago?”

Kevin looked around the room with his one remaining eye before answering.

“Not much. It was corporate for a reason. Our company built this anthill exclusively for workers. Some kind of last resort.”

“So you mostly lived with your family then?”

_“Family…”_

Not a very careful word to say. Whom could Dr Clamely consider his family in sight of the latest events?

“Sorry if I…”

“I thought of my team as my closest relatives. They were loyal to me until the very end. I wish it didn’t happen the way it did. If only I had a way to rescue them back then…”

He took a deep breath, and Rachel felt very uncomfortable about picking this topic. So she skipped to an even worse one.

“But your other clones claimed those… freaks… to be their family. Sorry, I just can’t call your creations any other way.”

“It’s fairly simple. I would even say it’s logical.”

He fell silent. The pause became creepy, making the girl ask carefully:

“Perhaps I’m missing something important to make a logical conclusion you refer to?”

“Yes… perhaps. Do you know that you had a stepbrother?”

 _“Had?..”_ Rachel squinted. Of course, it was an expected fact, since her father was married again. But she knew almost nothing about his new family… and honestly she didn’t want to.

_“Had.”_

“But… what’s hap-”

“I still don’t understand what’s happened back then. I received no full commentary although I asked every single person involved in the incident.”

“You want to say that he lost his life? Didn’t die peacefully?” the girl put in, but Kevin did not listen to her.

“All I had was a body. The worst feeling in the world is when a parent has to bury their child.”

“Yes… probably.” Rachel felt nervous about starting such an awkward conversation, and she wanted to change the topic again, but it wasn’t so easy anymore.

“That’s exactly why I _didn’t_.”

It required a pause for the words to sink in. The girl looked at her father with round eyes.

“What?..”

“I was already the head of Horzine at the time. One of our secret projects was to create an ideal controlled soldier for British military forces. Using any available means of science. So we did.”

“Please _don’t tell me you-“_

“It was an idea. Became a breakthrough. I’ve lost a sixteen years old child and acquired an enormous potential. An enormous family.”

He talked like he was spellbound, and if Rachel felt uncomfortable before, it had reached its maximum level.

“Okay, fine! Let’s drop this topic, right?” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

“There’s nothing else to say anyway. It’s all before everybody’s eyes. Outside.”

The Patriarch turned to the window, letting her know that the conversation was really over this time. Rachel desperately wanted to ask him about his past family that seemingly fell apart before she could meet them; but something told her that the answer would not bring anything happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I've had -10 on both my eyes the whole life until last year, so I don't really remember how -2 or -3 feels to see. I reckon that's around Rachel and Kevin's eyesight and one can do without glasses at this point... but it's unsuitable for fully comfortable life and lack of squinting of course.


	4. Reunited

* * *

Probably taking a subway train was not the brightest idea, since the previous one had not returned from the terminal station, according to reports. Despite this, the squad on Kevin Clamely’s tail bravely followed him straight to Butcher Street. Their courage withstood a train wreck as well.

“Hey, it’s not just an underground station,” the lady in a gas mask called out, looking at the steel doors with a suspicious card reader built in. One of her teammates, also wearing a gas mask but dressed in a slightly worn suit, mocked her:

“Of course it’s not! Dr Clamely just wanted to drive through and have a rest! He’s got a cottage here somewhere.”

“Come on, man,” his other companion poked him. This guy wore something unusual as well, although his glasses and skeleton masked face looked a bit less weird. “I went through some corpses in the meantime. Look what I found.”

He pulled a small bloodstained card out of his hoodie pocket; his friend recoiled as soon as he heard the “went through corpses” words.

This place somewhat reminded DJ Scully of an asylum. Perhaps it was about the isolation. But one of the main differences was plenty of closed doors with access cards. Luckily, the one they found was enough to open all of them. The last door, though, didn’t budge and turned on some sort of security system that momentarily shut the exit, trapping the squad inside.

Above the four’s heads, two TV screens came alive. An image went online; it looked like a transmission from some control room, and a girl in a lab coat stood in front of a control panel and tapped on the microphone. The tapping sound resonated in the dusty air of storage rooms.

“Who’s there? Look, I don’t know how you got in here, but I’m Kevin Clamely’s daughter Rachel. And I’m on your side.”

The squad made several careful steps towards the screens. All four of them were surprised in the same fashion to hear this, but they had no reason to doubt the girl’s words. Although the bravest (or most thoughtless?) one turned out to be exactly the skeleton mask guy. He stepped forward, slightly pushed aside his friend in military uniform and exclaimed:

“Hey, nice to meet you! I go by the name Scully. You know, a famous DJ.” The man in a gas mask behind him snorted. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Despite the seeming foolishness in Scully’s behavior and his levity, others could not help but notice the way he felt himself in this situation. Which was quite stressful, one had to say. Besides that, he also managed to flirt with those he has just met.

* * *

 

“You say it’s gonna blow up… What about you?”

While others had a dispute about what they should have for the next income of clones, Scully stood in front of one of the TVs in this room and talked to the girl behind the screen again. Her plan to prevent local clones from getting out was to simply blow up the whole lab… A deadly effective but also very dangerous plan.

“What… about me?” The intercom voice sounded surprised, and the guy flared up.

“Well, _come on!_ You’re around here somewhere as well, aren’t you? Judging by interior around you.”

“Um… yes.”

“Doesn’t that mean that you’re gonna blow up with the lab as well?”

“Scully, spare me a few quids, mate,” a muffled voice from the shop called out. But the DJ was waiting for _her_ response.

“Don’t you need to escape with us, Rachel?”

“I… I think I’m going to be okay. I’m far… enough… I guess.” It was clear that the girl didn’t think about that. Did she even contemplate the possibility of staying alive after all this?

 _“You guess?”_ Scully tilted his head. “Hard to believe.”

“Scully, you dam _nation!”_ the voice barked from behind his back, and he had to set off his vacant place before he got ripped into pieces by his teammates.

* * *

 

“You’re alive! But you still need to override that security door. Hurry, time is running out!”

If the pack of four could brag about being able to withstand hordes of clones with a Patriarch at the lead, this time it was not so simple. A horde is a horde, but defeating two Patriarch clones at the same time was not a funny business. Looked like Kevin really needed to hold off the pursuit…

“Rachel! Do you really want to stay here?” the gas mask lady asked, turning to one of the security cameras. “You could be a help.”

“No… sorry, I really need to stay,” the voice sighed. “I need to finish something before heading out to the surface. And you must go right now.”

“Rachel, Rachel!”

“Yes, Scully?”

“Please take care of yourself. Promise me!”

“I…” the voice hesitated, “I promise. Good luck. And _godspeed.”_

* * *

* * *

 

Now we shall return to events of present – the very present where Rachel and Kevin have left the temporary hideout and went further. The situation was likely to repeat on the next night… but Rachel didn’t lose hope for getting somewhere more comfy at the end of this day.

However, time went on, and their success kept escaping as soon as they barely managed to achieve it. All radio stations were still offline, but the deeper into London, the more violent was the intent of previous owners to break the equipment. Somewhere it was flooded with blood, somewhere it was broken into half with a head of some unlucky clone. As if those who escaped or visited this place tried very hard to cut the connection between London and outer world. Rachel did not understand the reason for such measures, but she also did not really try to do it.

They have crossed two more streets, and the girl wanted to stop searching in favor of finding something edible in the first floor shops. But unexpectedly for her, the Patriarch, being silent and inert as usual, suddenly stopped and grabbed her shoulder, clenching it painfully.

“Let go, it hurts!” she hissed, trying to set herself free, but the clone did not move an inch. He shushed in response and spoke as close to whisper as he ever could:

_“There’s someone nearby.”_

It sounded so suspicious that it sent shivers down Rachel’s spine.

“Someone… as if?”

“Human. Very close. In that building.”

He pointed a claw at a house across the street with an inoperative bookstore sign.

“Do you think someone’s having a self-education lesson?” the girl smirked, but overall she knew Kevin was not joking. Being almost unarmed, he had the right to be afraid of any person on their way. Moreover, in burning London that had crowds of clones coming through… someone still could escape death in a setting like this. And that someone would not stay unarmed themselves.

“Here’s the plan. You enter the building, convince that person that it’s alright and they can join us. I’ll keep a lookout.”

“ _Convince_ them? What if they’re a psycho with an AA-12?” Rachel resented.

“Of the two of us, you’re more suitable for a truce envoy, don't you agree?”

She made a deep sigh. A statement hard to argue.

The bookstore was incredibly narrow. Perhaps the bookshelves were moved closer to each other in the final reckless attempt to hold off the clones; but judging by the corpses around, it did not succeed. Though for Rachel, who tried to find a living soul in this mess, this bookshelf pattern was a little helping.

Moving as quiet as a mouse, holding her fire axe as tight as she could, she was sneaking to the source of latest sound of pages turning. There it was again… She has already constructed a plan of ambushing the bookworm and fully submitting them to her will.

_Now or never!_

Rachel clenched the axe, jumped out of her ambush spot and swung her weapon, yelling:

“Ready or not, here I come!”

The person, actually startled by this, flinched and shouted something obscene in a language similar to German. Then they faced the girl. It was a man holding a phone book and wearing a black and white mask on his face with a print that had forever cut into Rachel’s memory since she had first seen it on the surveillance feed.

_"Scully!”_

_"Rachel!”_

They exclaimed each other’s names at the same time with unhidden delight. After all, they both considered each other if not dead then very lucky to survive.

“Wait, what are you doing here?” Scully said with audible surprise, looking over the girl. “Don’t look like you’ve been here for long… I mean you look awesome anytime but this just suggests-“

“I get it,” Rachel laughed. “We’ve been looking for any means of communication to contact the outside world and request help. Though any station we find is either broken or inactive. What’s your issue around here anyway? You were on your way to Paris with your squad, weren't you?”

“Yeah, you know… I forgot something back here and decided to come fetch it when I still had time. Paris can wait. Others left, and people will follow them too. They’ll handle it well without me, I think.” Scully scratched his neck, and the girl could swear he smiled wide like a child under his mask. “Hey, you said _‘we’_ … As if you’re not alone here. Found someone to help?”

“Well…” she hesitated. “You’re not gonna like it.”

At that moment, the guy suddenly shouted: _“Get down!!”_ and dashed to get his P90 off the floor; but instead of following his order, Rachel just turned around, and turns out she did the right thing.

Behind her, in quite an uncomfortable position, the Patriarch's clone was watching them without much interest. He did in fact look a bit more terrifying comparing to previous state, as his shirt was unbuttoned with the nasty looking tentacles sticking out. But other than that, he posed no visible threat.

“Wait, don’t do anything to him!” the girl exclaimed and rushed to stop Scully’s movements. “He’s on our side!”

“ _Our side?!_ What’ve you been smoking?” he yelped, staring at the clone as if the Christ’s second rising. “Although I guess it’s a question for me since I see both of you. Who’d ever come back to London at a time like this…”

“No way, young man. If you have hallucinations, _we_ are not a part of them,” the Patriarch countered, shifting weight from one leg to another impatiently. “Let’s get out of here, these ceilings are belittling me.”

Before Scully could say another word, Rachel grabbed his wrist without any more talking and led him outside. Only on the streets, with a phone book in one hand and his P90 in another, the DJ could fully grasp the situation.

“Wow… Man, my life’s tossing me like _spare cash!”_ he could only blurt out. “A peaceful Patriarch with no gun… you’re alive… I don’t know how, but life’s making all my fondest wishes come true, and _man_ am I happy it does so!”

“Well, you’re overreacting a little right here,” Rachel chuckled. “We just happened to pass by. You can thank Kevin for spotting you.”

“Oh, do we need to exchange names?”

The guy shoved the phone book under his arm and lent him his right hand. The Patriarch was outright not thrilled about the gesture.

“Can do without.”

“Oh well. My name’s Scully. DJ Scully. If you haven’t heard of me before, you _surely will_ in the future. Haha!”

The clone was clearly not sharing Scully’s enthusiastic mood about the encounter. He glanced at his daughter with a sigh, and she could only shrug in response.

She really just wanted the situation to stay this way and not become dreadful instead.


	5. Inevitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to my bro Sooslick for plot ideas in this chapter  
> saved me a lot of trouble

The day was slowly but steadily falling red. Darkness enveloped the smoldering London, swallowing broken cars and pieces of something once alive outside. When the sun disappeared completely, a fierce wind blew through, bringing light drizzle along. Although those sitting under the very roof felt no discomfort because of it. The guy in a skull boned mask stuck his head outside a round window, glanced at the weather and ducked back, closing the window after that.

“It’s raining,” he called over the shoulder into the dark attic. No response. Scully sighed, took the bag off his back and threw it somewhere at his feet, then sat down by its side.

The blackness of this attic was quite stuffy and unwelcoming; the ceiling was too low and it made the tallest one in their company constantly bend over, so he finally found his place by the old mattresses, tucking his legs under himself.

Scully couldn’t keep himself still for long: he sat at his place for mere five minutes and shoot up again. For some time, he paced around the attic again, kicking the air; then he finally pulled himself together and opened the window again. The grey wet air broke into, turning over some old papers on the floor and spraying the DJ with a shower of raindrops. He wiped his face with a hoodie sleeve and cussed when he realized he was smearing something that resembled blood across his cheeks.

He once again put his face out in the rain to wash off the suspicious substance that tasted awfully salty. After a couple of minutes of this, the rain stopped feeling that awful, and Scully drifted to his thoughts that waited too long for the right moment to capture him.

The last thing he remembered perfectly was his suggestion to drive a car. It’s worth noting that the DJ never had a driver license, and he became one solely by a process of elimination. But why would they need to drive anywhere?

Scully wrinkled his forehead, squinting from rain. It has somehow escaped his mind completely…

“Dr Clamely,” he started softly but fell silent. He thought that both of them required a rest right now. So he’d have to use his own head.

* * *

After meeting up with Scully father and daughter briefed him about what happened to them and why they both are here. The guy did the same. He hinted vaguely that he needed to find some stuff he left at a friend of his whose address he didn’t know, although he did know his stationary phone number. All Rachel’s questions about the thing’s value were shooed, as he said it was 100% important and he wouldn’t come back for any garbage risking his life. On the other hand, he’d risk it anyway if he went to Paris among the first people.

“Well, now as we’ve found each other, it would be reckless to split up again,” Rachel concluded.

“Why?” Scully shrugged. “We survived before somehow…”

“I mean that we have more chances to find required stuff together than divided. The question is, what we are going to find first.”

“Not help,” both Patriarch and Scully exclaimed. Then they exchanged glances, and the guy continued: “I mean, find my stuff. You wonder why? I’m gonna get it using methods… somewhat illegal, and I don’t what anyone outside to know about it. Well, you two won’t give it out, right?”

He chuckled under his mask and looked at his nine foot tall companion. The clone sighed with a tint of disgust and spoke:

“Your sinful business aside, it’s worth saying that the rescue won’t wait for long. It would be wiser to first break off any contact with London and then move out.”

“That’s if we manage to contact the survivors…” Rachel noticed sadly. Both of her companions' faces dimmed. “Oh come on, don’t be soured… It’s gonna be alright! When we get your stuff, Scully. Show me the address.”

The search was not continuous. The DJ had already looked through a fair amount of pages in the telephone book before the girl with an axe jumped out and scared him. So he knew where they needed to go. The journey didn’t cause trouble as well; at first Scully flinched at every Zed, but then Rachel explained the situation with clones and the Patriarch being the reason they kept away. At the very address they needed, they met one of the unusual Zeds – those who didn’t only show signs of aggression but also looked intelligent. Scully vanished inside the building at the time, and sometimes one could hear broken glass resonating from inside it; then Rachel noticed an unusual clone lurking across the street.

“Hey, Kevin, look,” she pointed at the Zed, “don’t you find that Scrake a bit peculiar?”

The Patriarch glanced at the clone. Standing its back to them, it turned around.

“It’s rude to talk about someone behind their back,” Clamely shook his head. “He’ll come closer now.”

“What, on his own?!”

“No, I-“

“You made him, right?”

“Why made? I asked him, that is all,” he squinted, resentful. The Scrake actually walked in their direction. Although it looked peaceful, a chainsaw stapled to one of its hands and a crude robe still smelled like bad memories to Rachel, and she hid behind the Patriarch a little bit.

Despite that, the clone actually had no murderous intents. It stopped mere meters away and tilted its head to the side, as if watching them silently. The girl was the first to break it.

“What’s so interesting about us?” she exclaimed, setting the axe aside on the ground with its blunt end.

The Scrake answered something, according to its jaw movement, but its mask ate these sounds away. The Patriarch gestured vaguely across his face; the other clone nodded and pulled the mask down. To Rachel’s surprise, its face was completely human – excluding the fact it was actually a clone.

“New subjects. Always interesting,” the chainsaw man shrugged.

“So you actually talk normally,” the girl said, almost losing her axe support point. The clone laughed, though it sounded a little menacing.

“Scaring people? Those like me,” it said, though Rachel misinterpreted that question.

“Not as often as killing,” she cowered, still standing behind the Patriarch.

“If anything, you are doing your job well,” he concluded.

“The job of what? Dismembering everyone?” Rachel hissed from behind his arm.

“Actually I planned this clone version to be a field medic. Well, it isn’t exactly what was planned, but the result is impressive too.”

“Yeah. Gonna hear the chainsaw sounds my whole life,” the girl muttered. The Patriarch shrugged it off and switched to the Scrake that still watched them eagerly.

“Need tools. Potential comes with them,” the clone uttered with a tint of sorrow. The chainsaw that was buzzing softly the whole time suddenly went silent, and the Scrake yanked the cord several times before it started rattling in an even more menacing tone.

“So the chainsaw won’t do?”

“Too rough. Surgeon is accuracy. And sedated patient.”

Rachel listened to their conversation with a little confusion in her gaze. She had an impression that her father talked to his assistant that was onto something; but her father was no longer a scientist but a monster, and his assistants kind of looked the part.

“Okay, I’m done wi- mother of God! What’s it doing here?!”

Scully’s yelp made both Clamelys turn their heads. The guy already got out of a broken window, judging by some small cuts on his hoodie, and he was holding a grey parcel in one of his hands. Seeing him, the Scrake lost interest immediately.

“Need to work. Excuse me,” it spoke, pulled the surgeon mask up its chin and made its way back into the building across the road, swinging its operating chainsaw. The trio watched its back before it disappeared in a doorway.

“So you got what you wanted.”

“Yeah, here it is!” Scully shook the package in his hands happily. “We can go anywhere and do anything. D’ya want to eat maybe?”

“Let’s settle this later,” Rachel pleaded. “We have to move on. You know, I might have an idea where to go…”

“Where to?”

“Horzine's main office is in London… well, at least it was. It’s a large office, so they must certainly have some means of communication, and one can’t just destroy them… They have some precautions about it, right, father?”

“Perhaps… perhaps,” Kevin answered thoughtfully, scratching his chin with a long claw. “There is always a backup plan. To keep the stations working no matter what.”

“Well, that’s awesome! Why’d you keep silence?” The girl grabbed her axe and placed it on her shoulder. “Let’s go!”

“Wait. Let’s stop and think for a sec.” Scully put the package into his bag and took the P90 in his hands. “Is that office far from here?”

“Hmm… If I remember the address correctly, it’s… wait, where are we now?” Rachel spun around herself, looking for street nameplates. “Oh, we’re about ten kilometers away…”

“And we’re gonna cover that on foot?” the DJ resented. “Let’s get a car and I’ll drive you there with comfort. Well, at least I’ll try.”

“Excuse me, but… does ‘get a car’ mean ‘steal it’?”

“Yep, that’s exactly what it means. Hey look, that’s Jim’s car!”

The guy happily pointed at a blue Volkswagen parked near them. On its hood, a giant sticker with a big-breasted bikini girl took place; Rachel glanced at it and grimaced.

“Jim? Who’s that?”

“The very guy I visited right now. Hope he’s doing alright and out of here, and we’re gonna borrow this beauty from him.”

Scully gripped his submachine gun and hit the driver window with its buttstock; glass dust fell, but the car remained silent.

“No alarm?” Rachel said, surprised.

“Jim always cared little about expensive stuff like that,” the DJ waved a hand, fidgeting with the lock. “Won’t be a wonder if he keeps spare keys in the glove box.”

* * *

All of that had a solid imprint in Scully’s mind. How he stole a car, not for the first time in his life, and went unpunished; how he impressed the young lady in this car with his driving skills and received a hit upside the head from her father. How they drove the defiant blue Volkswagen to the three-storied office building that looked like hell knows what; half of the windows were shattered or missing glass at all, somewhere flames burst out, but all things said the building looked pretty much abandoned.

Then… What happened then?

He finally tore his face away from the rainy window and pulled away, wiping his face with a sleeve, even though it wasn’t becoming any cleaner. The air in the attic was now a bit less dense, letting in the wet scent of rainwater. Somewhere at the skyline, lightning flashed from time to time, scaring other potential survivors with thunder bursts. One lightning blinded Scully for a second, and he turned away from the window, deciding that it’s enough and he could sit anywhere else.

The DJ looked around the room. Boxes, boxes, someone’s old mattresses and clothing, empty dusty bookshelves; somewhere around here also were his bag with the goddamn package inside and his P90 that he miraculously retained despite all adventures. Scully strolled around the room awkwardly, choosing a place to tuck himself into without causing havoc.

“Stop. Sit down and quit pacing,” the Patriarch spoke up suddenly, startling the guy, and he stumbled. With a sigh, he found the closest mattress, pulled it closer and sat down on it, pulling his knees to his chest. After that, the Patriarch’s displeasure seemed to wear off, and he turned away. Next to him, in a pile of mattresses and old blankets, Rachel slept; her clothes were torn and bloodied, but her body almost lacked the signs of such incursion. She was sound asleep and almost not moving, but Scully was afraid to wake her with his rattling anyway.

His clothes smelled like blood. Rachel’s blood. Rainwater blurred the bloodstains, but the scent became even worse after that. He wiped his cheeks with a sleeve again, knowing full well it will just smear the filth, but the desire to do anything about the blood – another’s blood – on his face was above his common sense.

He felt himself falling asleep. He knew that the Patriarch is always on guard and he can allow himself a couple of hours of sleep, so nothing bad would happen… Among these thoughts, he let the darkness envelop his mind, and it felt so good.

* * *

Something happened to the car.

Scully flinched from a loud crack as something hit the car’s hood. He turned off the engine hastily and carefully stuck his head out, trying to see the fallen object. He failed to do so, and he decided to get out to have a closer look.

“Stay. Another one can dive through your head,” a low hoarse voice stopped him, and the Patriarch climbed out instead of the DJ. First, he looked up at where the object fell down from presumably; then he glanced at the hood. The object fell from about the third floor and must’ve been particularly heavy, as it cut into the hood by at least half its size.

Seeing no more flying objects to follow, humans also got out of the Volkswagen, grabbing their weapons and looking around cautiously. Rachel noticed one thing at the parking lot that got her full attention instantly.

“Look, what’s that on the ground?” She came closer and picked up a broken metal box. It was quite heavy and looked very familiar… Rachel remembered putting these into the computers’ uninterruptible power supplies when they experienced electricity problems.

“God, these are UPS batteries,” the girl exhaled. “Look, there’s more! It’s a whole graveyard of them!”

Indeed, at least six identical boxes lay on the concrete under the building’s windows, all completely unusable. Rachel’s hands unclenched helplessly, and the dead battery in her hands fell down with a crashing sound. She turned around to repeat her words about dead UPSs, but…

“Aaaah! _Verdomme!_ Why is it on fire?!”

Her companions seemed to be occupied with a different sort of action. Completely different, because Scully, filled with panic, was trying to open the car’s door that got stuck, and the hole in the hood was swarming with flames. He had no bag on his back, and it was probably locked in the burning car that he so desperately tried to open. The Patriarch was nowhere to be seen - he must have gone to find a fire extinguisher.

Thoughts swarmed Rachel’s mind feverishly. Someone is throwing UPS batteries out of the windows. Many of them are already down. The Patriarch mentioned the means of communication to have something supporting them to always be online.

Someone is trying to cut them off the outer world _right now._

Rachel picked her axe up. She had to move out. She’s going to be fine.

No one shouted after her as she snuck into the destroyed doorway and flew up the stairs on the left. Sprinting across the second floor, she only found a couple of Clots that she easily dealt with and went up further. Judging by the body count there, a bloody conflict took place on the third floor and humans weren’t victorious. The girl knelt and touched a nearby corpse: cold as ice. That meant they were already dead for a long time. Not fresh.

Heavy steps made Rachel look up. Right in front of her, a Scrake stood – one just like all others, with a chainsaw stapled to its hand and a bloodstained apron. Something made it different though.

A battery block in its other hand.

“So it’s you disposing of blocks? Why?..” the girl uttered, recoiling a bit. The clone tilted its head – just like the one that was eyeing them not long ago on the street; Rachel found the gesture to be so calm and easygoing that she relaxed a bit. “What’s the deal in it for you?”

It didn’t respond. The hand holding a battery box unclenched, and it fell down on the floor; the clone itself slowly headed the girl’s way. Now was a good time to become concerned.

“Hey… what are you up to?” she asked with suspicion, getting up from the floor. “I’m not gonna harm you, I’m just interested why… Hey!”

Her words, however, didn’t stop the Scrake. Seeing that they didn’t exactly get along, Rachel grabbed the axe with both hands and made several steps back. Unfortunately, the stairs were still there, and she stumbled, falling head over heels down the stairs. It ended abruptly with a wall and a hit to the head; Rachel blacked out for a second, and so the last thing she saw was a chainsaw swinging Zed running at her. All she could do was scream in pain and sheer horror.

 

“Phew, damn… The fire’s out, I guess,” Scully exhaled with relief, peeking inside the car and seeing the bag untouched. “Sweet Heavens, it didn't burn!”

He tossed aside the empty fire extinguisher that the Patriarch had found in such an urgent manner. The latter stood near the entrance with an expression both annoyed and bothered. “What’s up?”

“There’s someone in the building,” he muttered. “Killing Zeds.”

“Oh, you can feel that? Sick thing!” the guy exclaimed with a chuckle. “Maybe it’s the one dropping stuff on our car?”

“I doubt it.”

“Oh come on… wait, where’s Rachel?”

A high-pitched female scream drowned out every sound source in a moment. The men exchanged glances and rushed into the building with no further words. The screams died away pretty fast – she must’ve lost consciousness – but it was enough to locate the source. At the stairs from second to third floor, a figure could be seen from afar; its muscular hand held Rachel in a horribly scarlet-turning jacket, dripping blood from lacerations on her arms and torso.

“Hey, stop! Enough of this!!” Scully yelped, readying the P90. “No jokes, I’ll open fire!”

“Back off.”

He turned to face the Patriarch and shivered because of both his voice and fury in his remaining eye.

_“Back off, kid!”_

* * *

Scully flinched and opened his eyes. Sometimes it happens halfway through falling asleep that you wake up all of sudden because in your dream you were falling to your death or hit your face with a branch. That’s exactly how he woke up this time. Nothing changed around him; Rachel was still asleep under a pile of blankets, and the Patriarch resided next to her, not in the slightest affected by fatigue.

Dreams were quite a cool way for the DJ’s mind to show what actually happened. He pulled the hat off his head; it was wet from staring outside the window for so long. He stroked his moist blonde hair. A while ago, he’d dyed a part of his bangs bright turquoise and waited for it to wash off or fade, but the dye must’ve been exceptionally high-quality and didn’t want to let him go.

“Kevin… Can I ask you something?” Scully began nervously, not looking at him. To his surprise, the clone didn’t turn him down.

“Dr Clamely for you. What do you want?”

“I… my head’s been playing tricks on me, so I can’t really recall what’s happened lately… Can you tell me?”

“What exactly?”

“Why’d you attack that Scrake if you could just send it away… And what’s happened onwards.”

“Has your infant brain decided to block bloody flashbacks, huh?” Kevin chuckled. Scully could’ve taken that as an insult but he skipped that. “The Scrake disobeyed me. So I solved the problem by the only remaining approach.”

“Disobeyed? Really, it happens to you?”

“Can tell.”

“But… you control any Zeds on your way. Could that one be defective?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he was defective, maybe I am defective and newer clones will not listen to me. Either way, back then I had better things to do than considering this. I had to save my daughter.”

“Heh… You’re not the original Dr Clamely, right?” Scully tilted his head.

“Yes. Does it matter?”

“It’s just… _ironic?_ That a clone has more decency and desire to help his relative than the original. Although you are fully identical by nature.”

“Hm. Maybe I am in fact a defective clone.” The Patriarch sighed grimly, and the DJ thought that it was perhaps not the best topic to discuss.

“So… what happened next?” he asked as carefree as possible, peeking at his companion and noting that the number of his syringes now equaled two.

“I finished off the Scrake. Then we rushed to help Rachel.”

“You must’ve wasted a syringe on her! One of those with superhealing liquid.”

“Not exactly. I-”

“Aaah, _wait,_ I remember _now!_ I might remember it. You wasted about one third of it on Rachel because you thought the whole syringe would kill her. And you used the rest to patch yourself up after the Scrake fight!”

“Correct.”

“So now you have only two chances to save your own skin…”

“Yes. Going to claim one?”

“Not at all! I mean, I’ll be careful and do well without it.” He waved his hands, and Kevin sighed.

“Rachel is also usually careful about everything. But things happened.”

Both fell silent. The rain outside slowly faded away, and a reddish pre-dawn glow peeked out from behind the farthest buildings. Scully suddenly felt himself falling asleep again, unable to resist the urge. He could only utter, “Kevin… despite everything, you’re a good person,” and collapse.


End file.
